


The First

by intotheruins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, Some angst, Supportive Bobby, Supportive Dean, Trans Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-08 05:16:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8831845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intotheruins/pseuds/intotheruins
Summary: By the time he was twelve, Sam knew for certain that he was a boy. The first person he tells is Bobby Singer.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elenajames](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, Marce! <3
> 
> NOTE: This is only one example of a trans person's experiences. A lot of it is based on my own experience (at least leading up to the hormones, since I'm not on those yet). Sam refers to his junk as a dick in this story, but not every trans person is comfortable doing the same.

_Sioux Falls. May 2 nd, 1995_

_~_

Sam sat at Bobby's table, an open can of Pepsi clutched tight in his fist. He kept swirling his fingers through the condensation slipping down the side, rubbing it into the old wood with his other hand. Frantic little swirls and squiggles, anxiety painted in liquid so clear it might as well be invisible.

Just like his... problem.

It was just after five in the morning. John would be asleep for a few more hours, but Bobby would wander down sometime in the next thirty minutes to start coffee. He'd make some hot chocolate too, when he saw Sam. He always made hot chocolate if Sam or Dean woke up early enough.

God, Dean. Hopefully he'd stay asleep, too.

Sam slammed his hand down on the table. It shook no matter how hard he pressed.

It was his birthday. Twelve years old today, which should have made him happy. Dad would forget—or offer him nothing more than a gruff _happy birthday_ —but Dean would have presents and maybe cake, and Bobby would make him breakfast, keep John off his back for the day. Birthdays at Bobby's were always _peaceful,_ something Sam craved.

But this birthday was different. Today, Sam had to tell someone.

Nervously, Sam twined a lock of hair around his finger. He'd considered cutting it all off last night, stood there in front of the mirror with a pair of scissors and imagined himself with a crew cut. In the end, he'd just cut it right above his neck. He liked it long, just not... that long.

When Bobby finally came shuffling into the kitchen, Sam jumped and spilled soda all over the table.

“Shit, sorry,” Sam mumbled, leaping up and snatching a dish towel hanging from the stove handle. His hands shook as he sopped up the liquid.

“'s okay, kiddo,” Bobby rumbled sleepily. He took another towel from a drawer and helped Sam clean up. “Little early for sugar, innit?”

“It's my birthday,” Sam said, like that was a perfectly good excuse.

Bobby chuckled and ruffled Sam's hair. His hand froze and his eyes snapped open a little more, taking in the cut.

“Hope you cleaned that up,” was all he said before his hand slid away.

“Y-yeah, I did.” Sam closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath.

Why was this so hard?

“You know it's okay for you to have long hair, right?” Bobby said as he pulled the milk from the fridge. “Nothin' wrong with you wantin' to be feminine.”

Oh, right. That was why.

“I don't want to be feminine,” Sam said slowly, keeping his eyes closed.

“Well, that's fine, too,” Bobby said. Sam could practically hear the shrug in his voice. “Long as it's what you want, it's fine.”

Sam gave a tight nod. He listened to the sounds of milk being poured, the rustle of a coffee filter being placed.

Then he blurted out in a rush, “I'maboy,” and flung himself back into his chair, covering his face with both hands.

His gut twisted into a knot so tight it hurt. He pressed his palms into his eyes and just tried not to hurl right there on the table.

The sounds stopped.

“Say that again?” Bobby said slowly.

Sam drew in a breath. “I'm a boy,” he said more carefully.

Another pause. Then, “I thought that's what you said.”

Footsteps approached the table. A chair scrapped over the floor, and then two hands curled gently around Sam's wrists, tugging his arms down to the table.

“Hey... son. Look at me.”

Sam's eyes snapped up.

_Son._

“Are you sure?” Bobby asked.

Sam nodded, eyes wide.

“Okay.” Bobby let him go and stood up. “You tell your daddy and Dean yet?”

“No,” Sam murmured. “I mean, I've known for a while. But. I don't know if they'd...”

Sam sighed heavily, hung his head. “I'm afraid that dad'll get mad. Or think I'm bad.”

A cup slammed down on the counter top, so loud and sudden it made Sam jump. When Bobby turned to face him, his eyes were narrow and his jaw tight.

“If he says anything like that, you tell me,” Bobby said quietly. “You ain't bad, Sama—Sam. Got it?”

Sam smiled, tentative at first, but growing the more Bobby spoke.

“Got it,” he said, low and warm.

“Good.” Bobby turned back to the fridge. “Now, you want pancakes or waffles?”

~

_Colorado, June 18 th, 1996_

_~_

The second Bobby picked up his phone, Sam blurted out, “I told them!”

There was a pause, then, “Well about damn time, boy. And?”

Boy. God, the relief of that... something always tight and _off_ in his chest let loose, let him breathe for the first time since their last trip to Bobby's.

“Dean was awesome,” Sam said, grinning at the memory. “He started calling me his brother right away, and he's calling me Sammy now. And he's on a mission to find me some new clothes to help hide my shape.”

He paused for breath and listened to Bobby chuckle a moment, laughing a little himself. Then he took a deep breath and plunged ahead.

“Dad was... quiet. He listened, I guess that's something. But he won't...” Sam's throat tightened. He closed his eyes and told himself firmly that he would _not cry._ Not again. “I mean, I get it. He's been calling me “she” since I was a baby, you know? Not everyone can just switch like Dean did. But it's like he just...”

“Blew it off?” Bobby finished.

“Yeah.” Sam's fist tightened around the phone. “Yeah, he blew it off. And I was really hoping...”

Sam's eyes burned. He squeezed them shut and hissed out, “I was really hoping he'd help me get on testosterone. But I don't think...”

One tear slipped free. Sam swiped at it angrily.

“Do you need me to come get you?”

Sam paused. He bit his lower lip hard, letting the pain ease back the tears. It was tempting. Beyond tempting, actually.

Only...

“I can't leave Dean,” Sam whispered.

There was silence for a moment. Then, “Okay, but you call if you need to.”

Sam's eyes closed around a relieved sigh. “Okay. Thanks, Bobby.”

~

_Sioux Falls, May 2 nd 1998_

_~_

“Lots of men got big hips, you know.” Bobby said, clapping Sam on the shoulder.

Sam scowled at himself in the mirror. Every day for the last two years, John had ignored his pleas for hormones. His chest, thank god, had barely grown at all—a loose shirt alone could cover it up. But his hips were wide, the way his waist curved inwards only making them that much more pronounced. The muscles he'd built up over the last few years helped, but not enough.

Sighing, Sam lifted his eyes to find Bobby in the mirror. The hunter was right behind him, a beer in one hand and the other still resting on Sam's shoulder. He leaned into, letting out a soft little sigh at the familiar contact.

“Dean got me a binder for my birthday,” Sam murmured. “I don't even really need one, but it still helps.”

“Good.” Bobby squeezed Sam's shoulder and let him go. “John'll come around. And if he don't, you'll be eighteen in three years.”

“Yeah.” Sam sighed, and forced himself to turn away from the mirror. “I know.”

He watched Bobby wander back out into the kitchen. The skin where Bobby's hand had been tingled—Sam fit his own hand over it curiously, shuddering at the memory of thick fingers digging into muscle.

“Oh, hell,” Sam groaned. He let his hand slide away and thunked his head against the wall.

He didn't need that. He _really_ didn't need that.

~

_Stanford, August 27 th 2002_

_~_

“I sound like a man!” Sam yelled.

On the other end of the line, Bobby burst out laughing. Sam just stood there, grinning so hard his face hurt and rolling his eyes at Jess, who was also laughing at him from the couch.

“I mean, I sound like I want to sound as a man,” Sam amended quickly, because there were plenty of guys out there with soft or high voices and that didn't make them any less of a man.

“How long you been on hormones?” Bobby asked around his chuckles.

“About eight months,” Sam started, and then Jess leaped up and stole the phone from him.

“He's so cute, he keeps having these grinning fits and he'll just stop in the middle of a chore and start laughing. Hi, I'm Jess!”

Sam tried to swipe the phone from her, but she grinned and ducked away from him, laughing silently when he plastered on his best (totally fake) scowl. He chased his girlfriend around the apartment, swiping ineffectually at the phone and laughing so damn hard he nearly fell more than once. Jess managed to chatter at Bobby the entire time, telling him about how Sam had legally changed his first name to “Samuel” and the top surgery he was scheduled to get in a few months.

She finally handed the phone back when Sam had just given up. He threw an arm around her shoulders and kissed her, more than a little overwhelmed with how much he loved her right then.

It helped ease back the lingering crush that should have gone away years ago, the one that still sent a flush of warmth through him whenever he heard Bobby's voice.

“You still there!”

Sam jumped and quickly brought the phone back to his ear. “Sorry! I'm here!”

The conversation wandered into college life. Sam wound up sitting on the couch with the phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear, promising he'd come visit on one of his breaks.

~

_Lost Creek, September 21 st, 2005_

_~_

Sam never did visit. First there was the top surgery over winter break, and then as much work as he could pack into his spare time to save up for a couple other surgeries. Law school preparation, more work... there just wasn't time. He called frequently, and Bobby never pressured him to make good on his promise.

Then Jess was killed. His old life caught up to him, put him back on the road with his brother and an anger he couldn't shake. He was happy to have Dean back in his life, but the nightmares of Jess burning on the ceiling wouldn't leave him alone. Getting his hormones became more difficult—he kept having to send them to different PO boxes, though at least Dean had no issues going out of his way to get them.

Now they were on a hunt, and it was like Sam had never left the life. Same questions, same covers, same rock music as Dean drove too fast down old back roads.

It terrified him that it was so easy.

He called Bobby a few hours before they left for Blackwater Ridge. The conversation was short, and ended with Bobby offering again to come and get him.

“I can't leave Dean,” Sam said, just like before. The words ached, the desire to just _go_ so powerful he almost said yes. Maybe he could convince Dean to go with him. Maybe his life could be something decent again, even after...

Inhaling sharply, Sam shook his head and shoved out through clenched teeth, “I have to find the thing that killed Jess.”

“Okay,” Bobby said easily. “Just call if you need me, you got it?”

When they hung up, Sam slid his hands over his face and let out a quiet groan.

Those were the same words Bobby always offered. The problem was the warmth, the glow in his chest, the damn smile that tugged at the corners of his lips.

He couldn't pretend this was a crush anymore.

~

_Sioux Falls, May 4 th 2006_

_~_

The demon was gone, Meg was dead, and they had a clue to their father's whereabouts. Sam sat slumped over in a chair in Bobby's kitchen, clinging to a bottle of beer with both hands like it could somehow ground him.

They were leaving as soon as Dean and Bobby had finished taking care of the body. Sam should have been out helping, but he just... couldn't.

He'd sat at this table at the age of twelve, and told someone for the first time that he was a man.

He'd had birthdays here that didn't make him cringe.

He had memories of sitting on the couch with Dean, watching stupid movies and playfully arguing over the best snacks for a marathon. Bobby with his hand on Sam's shoulder, or on his back, grip always firm and smiles rare, but eyes always kind.

So many years later, and Sam was only just realizing that this was his _home_. This, and a '67 Impala.

Two hands came down on his shoulders. Big hands, grip firm—not Dean. It was amazing how silent Bobby could be when he wanted to.

“Where's Dean?” Sam asked hoarsely.

“Upstairs takin' a shower,” Bobby answered. “You okay?”

Sam didn't answer. He just lunged out of his chair, ignoring the clatter of wood against linoleum.

He shouldn't. He shouldn't he _fucking shouldn't,_ Bobby might never look at him right again, might kick him out... but damn it, he needed it.

There was no resistance when Sam wrapped a hand around the back of Bobby's neck. No response either, when Sam pressed their lips together, but Bobby wasn't pulling away.

Bobby's lips were rough, a little cracked. Sam closed his eyes and just rubbed his own against them, didn't try to lick his way inside because he was too afraid that might break whatever spell was holding the older man in place.

When he pulled back, he kept his eyes closed and just leaned his forehead against Bobby's.

“I'm too old for you,” was all Bobby said.

Sam let out a soft, wry little chuckle. “Don't care.”

A hand curled around the back of Sam's neck, warm and a little too tight. “I was hopin' you'd grow out of this.”

Sam's face flushed hot, and his eyes snapped open. “You knew?”

Bobby shrugged. “You weren't nearly as good at hidin' it as you thought.”

Footsteps on the stairs made Sam take a step back, though his hands lingered until the last second. The hand around his neck squeezed and slid away.

“I'm coming back, after we find Dad,” Sam said, both a promise and a question.

The thump of Dean's boots came closer. Bobby glanced back over his shoulder. Then he reached around Sam, grabbing the beer up from the table and putting his mouth no more than an inch from Sam's ear.

“I'll be here,” he murmured, and stepped away just as Dean came into the kitchen.

~

Sam and Dean returned a few weeks later, and stayed for over a month. John's death hit them both hard, but Sam felt like it had hit Dean harder. He wouldn't stop working on the ruined Impala, not even to eat. Desperate for something to do, Sam would make him meals and coax him out from under the car. He didn't talk about Dad—not at first—he'd just sit there and watch Dean repress anything resembling a real emotion.

After three weeks of this, Sam finally just left him alone.

Bobby was there the entire time, offering small smiles or claps to the shoulder. The promise hung between them, but it wasn't until the end of the first month that they finally acted on it.

They were in the kitchen, Sam doing the dishes left from lunch, when Bobby just came up behind him, gently brushed his hair aside so he could press a kiss to the back of Sam's neck.

“Haven't really seen you yet, you know,” Bobby murmured, bringing a hand up to Sam's chest.

Sam's heart kicked up a notch. He leaned into the older man, eyes darting to the window to make sure Dean was still out there before he let them slide closed.

“I got keyhole surgery,” Sam said. “You can barely seen the scars.”

“What about...” Bobby's hand wandered lower. He pressed it just above Sam's crotch, the tips of his fingers dipping teasingly below the waistline of Sam's jeans. “I just don't wanna... use the wrong term, or whatever.”

Sam huffed out a quiet laugh. He tipped his head back over Bobby's shoulder, rolling his hips forward encouragingly. “I just call it my dick. It, well, kinda looks like one, too. Got this certain surgery, it's not that long but.” He laughed again, shrugging. “I like it.”

“Good.” Bobby's hand slid down to flick open the button his jeans. “And you can still?”

“Oh yeah,” Sam breathed—half in reply and half because Bobby's hand was slipping inside his boxers. “I can even get hard.”

One of Bobby's fingers slid over his dick. Sam bit his lower lip, chewing a little as that finger swirled over him. He bucked his hips into the attention, but couldn't bring himself to look at Bobby's face.

Stupid, _stupid_ to doubt now. Like this was somehow going to change Bobby's mind. Except that it had stopped others before, people who'd seemed so certain it wouldn't matter only to get there and find that Sam just didn't match up to what they were expecting.

“So,” Bobby murmured, pausing to press a kiss to Sam's temple. “You gonna let me suck you off?”

Stupid because it was _Bobby_ and Sam laughed, breathless and so relieved he shook with it.

“Hell yeah,” he replied, and took Bobby's hand to lead him upstairs.

 


End file.
